Raven’s footsteps echoed upon the street pavement as she walked underneath the night sky. At the moment she was passing by a few warehouses, as she walked with no real path in her steps. Pain laced all the way up her right bicep due to having lost the bottom half of her arm because of her sire, not that she had particularly minded at the time. However, upon this night she simply felt the need to take a walk. The fledgling had taken some time away from the den, not that it felt like a home anyway. Ever since her spat with Jesse and her own sire believing that she had begun to make things up, she had started to wonder if she should just leave. It irritated her and made her wonder just as to why her own sire would believe that she was lying. The woman didn’t make a habit of it, so it irritated her more than she had ever felt irritated in her life.
The right sleeve of her leather jacket hung free and empty, but upon that shoulder rested a red-tailed hawk. A gift from her sire, even though she was irritated with Clover, she wasn’t irritated with the bird that she had named Red. His head was safely tucked under his wing, asleep as he was more of a day animal than night time. However, due to the fact that she was constantly on the move, going from one place to the next, she preferred to keep the animal with her. Raven was ravenous and wanted nothing more than to sink her fangs into someone’s neck, as was the curse of an insatiable hunger. The hunger was just simply made worse by the irritation that she felt. Tonight though, she just wasn’t feeling it and needed something deeper, something sharper. Something to cut like the sharp edge of a blade to cut through the grey. Ever since turning everything was a mess, it had turned complicated and she hated it.
A stop came to her steps and she tilted her head back so then her brown hues could peer up at the night sky. Her black and red hair fell over her shoulders and down her back. A gentle breeze picked up and tugged at a couple of her locks, playing with them as she noted the cloud coverage. However, the view would have been spoiled anyway, especially considering the fact that the street lights shined brightly and blotted out half of the night sky. Another disappointment and a soft growl rose to her lips. Everything was fucked up, it wasn’t right and hadn’t been ever since she had turned. The corners of her lips turned downwards as she rolled her free shoulder in thought. Her human life made more sense than her immortal one. She had been alone in her human life, which was how she had desired it. However, she had bonded with Clover over death and that was where everything had turned sideways.
Slowly, her only hand lifted to rest upon her hip and she angled her head to the right while her brown eyes searched. They searched for a form, mostly human really. She wanted to rip into the helpless human being’s throat and tear it out. Then, after she had had her fill, rip the human to shreds so then she could bury it somewhere. ”******* Jesse,” she mumbled to herself as she began to move towards the side of a warehouse so then she wasn’t in such a brightly lit area. A one arm vampire was surely to be noticed by many and she wanted to avoid paladins tonight. Or, perhaps it was time to find out what death for a vampire was, so a paladin was exactly what she needed. However, she then realized that she still had Red perched upon her shoulder, his familiar claws clung to her shoulder likes sharp pin pricks.
She cast her gaze over her free shoulder before she slipped down the side of one of the warehouses and hoped that no one really noticed. Red meant that she was not going to search for a paladin, but if she ran into one, she hoped that he would go… She was about to think of home when she stopped suddenly. Right, home was a ******* joke, so is family and all of that ********. The circle was endless and she was tired of it. Raven had thought about leaving Harper Rock, but Clover had threatened Raven as she walked out the door. Threats, she was faced with them even in the so-called family she was supposed to be in. Friend, family or foe, they were all beginning to look the same and she just simply couldn’t trust anyone. It was no wonder that more often than not she preferred her own company, no need to worry about such relationships, but even if she did cut the cord, she had a feeling that Clover would come looking.
The sound of a truck motor came to her attention and she pressed her form close to the warehouse’s wall and edged her way to the edge. Taking a moment to gather herself, she pressed her left hand to the wall and peeked out. Her brown eyes spotted the plain white truck as it began to reverse back into the warehouse next to the one she was standing in the shadow of. Beep, beep, beep. The reversing sound of the truck made her grit her teeth, as it struck a chord with her, one that didn’t bring good memories. A frown creased her forehead as she watched the truck come to a stop, what was a truck doing out late at this night? It really wasn’t her problem. All that she cared about, was the driver that had stopped the truck and was now exiting the cab. Slowly, she knelt down upon one knee and her left hand moved to rest upon the dirty street underneath her feet. Who else is there? She asked herself and took a moment to count the amount of humans present.
Keys to the Kingdom [Master]
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Raven Talius
- Registered User
- Posts: 253
- Joined: 30 Jan 2016, 05:41
- CrowNet Handle: The_Raven
Keys to the Kingdom [Master]
Last edited by Raven Talius on 29 Apr 2016, 22:46, edited 1 time in total.
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Stonehouse
- Registered User
- Posts: 306
- Joined: 23 Feb 2015, 17:06
Re: Keys to the Kingdom [Master]
The thrill of the chase is often more exhilarating than the actual capturing of the prize. Once the fox has been cornered, the deer snared, or the salmon hooked, what happens next? The hunter's task is effectively complete, except for the meaningless kill. The real excitement is in the pursuit, in pitting the cunning and skill of the tracker against the guile and tenacity of the prey. If the task is too easy, then the game rapidly loses its appeal. Shooting fish in a barrel will soon bore even the most inexperienced marksman. Would bloodthirsty pirates sing rum-fuelled songs about the time that they plundered the unarmed canoeist? Can you imagine mighty Viking warriors regaling heroic tales in their mead hall of the victory over the defenseless milkmaids? Of course not! The true thrill, the adrenaline junkie's dream, is to be challenged.
Grant Stonehouse was bored. A string of simple, unadventurous burglaries had left him seeking a fresh test. If he continued in this vein, it was only a matter of time until complacency set in. Mistakes would undoubtedly be made as the well-organized criminal took his eye off the ball. Alternatively, the grey fog of lethargy, slowly choking him like a poisonous gas, would make the businessman blend into the shadows even more that he already did. Stonehouse was at a crossroads, deciding which way to turn next.
The entrepreneur was currently trading stolen goods, pillaged from numerous warehouse raids, and making a tidy profit, but he needed an injection of enthusiasm. Rather than choosing to hit yet another office block that was lacking in adequate security measures, Stonehouse had been carefully tracking the progress of a new target - a moving target.
For several nights in a row, a large white truck had been transporting expensive, high-end electrical goods across the city. Laptops, iPhones, and gaming consoles, normally housed in a maximum-security factory, were ripe for the picking. Elaborate alarm systems, CC-TV units, and armed guards with ferocious looking dogs patrolling the warehouse perimeter, would make an attempt to break in and steal the loot somewhat foolhardy, if not totally reckless. However, once the gates of Mordor were opened, and the truck left the sanctuary of the urban fortress, it was a different ball game. The lorry was effectively a mobile refrigerator, jam-packed with a feast that could feed the five thousand.
Stonehouse had been meticulously monitoring the movements of the mobile goldmine, plotting its progress, reciting its route over and over in his mind until he knew each and every turn that the truck would make. The mental map was imprinted on the looter's mind. He was like a student, revising before an end of year examination, planning for success. One big haul, like a trawler returning to port with bulging nets full of succulent fish, could set up Stonehouse and his shady business ventures for months. Everything was in order; the roles had been cast, the stage was set, and tonight was show time.
The play in question contained three supporting actors: the driver of the truck, who appeared utterly focused on the job, and glued to his seat; a young man with a phone permanently attached to his ear, apart from when he was loading and unloading the vehicle; and a middle-aged security guard, probably an ex-cop, or maybe military. Act one was uneventful and laborious. The lorry would leave the haven of the warehouse castle, follow a preset route, and arrive at a much smaller building - some kind of distribution centre - roughly fifteen minutes later. Act two was even duller, as the empty truck would disappear into the night, not to be seen again until the next evening. It was the bit in between that really appealed to Stonehouse, the interval, when the goods were on display.
The unloading procedure usually lasted for about twenty minutes, a little quicker if the driver could be bothered to get up off his fat arse and lend a hand. A fourth actor would appear during the intermission, a stocky man with short-cropped black hair and a fondness for heavy metal T-shirts. Stonehouse thought that the evening temperature was far too chilly for short sleeves, but the depot worker seemed to enjoy showing off his biceps. Surely he was just an extra, trying to land himself a more prominent part in the next production?
Obviously, Stonehouse would play the lead role in the big budget production. He had the looks, the style, and most importantly... the plan. There were several options that swirled around in the burglar's mind, different flavours teasing his thieving taste buds. He could try something bold and meaty, go in all guns blazing and drive away in the truck, dragging all the loot with him like a caveman taking down a mammoth. There was the daring, spicier option of hijacking the lorry before it reached its destination, eliminating the fourth member from the equation. The final possibility, the one that Stonehouse settled upon as his plan of action, was far sweeter, like liquid chocolate that would flow smoothly. He'd let the goons unload the bounty into the storage depot then take down the lone worker once the road crew had split the scene. Ok, ok, so technically that meant that he was no longer hitting a moving target, and it was suddenly resembling a more routine breaking and entering scenario, but Stonehouse was the director, and it was his prerogative to alter the plot line!
The scene was set. Stonehouse, dressed from head to toe in black, including a slightly itchy balaclava, was huddled behind a group of bins adjacent to a sewer entrance. The underground network of damp, dark tunnels was still proving to be the stealthy Englishman’s preferred pathway around the city. He had learned each tortuous twist and turn of Harper Rock’s hidden maze, using it to appear and then vanish like a midnight magician. He kept his equipment for the job to a minimum: two compact rapid-fire machine-guns, in case the **** hit the fan; a pair of short-blade daggers, ideal for silent, close-quarter assassinations; and a couple of smoke grenades. Everything else that he required was stored safely in his head.
The powerful growl of a diesel engine, followed by a crazy beeping sound of the truck reversing, announced its arrival, like an ice-cream van playing a mechanical nursery rhyme to attract the hungry children. It was time to get the show on the road, or rather get the treasure off the road. Just as Stonehouse was about to make his move, a strange flash of red danced around in his peripheral vision. Was somebody else here, somebody else hiding in the shadows?
Grant Stonehouse was bored. A string of simple, unadventurous burglaries had left him seeking a fresh test. If he continued in this vein, it was only a matter of time until complacency set in. Mistakes would undoubtedly be made as the well-organized criminal took his eye off the ball. Alternatively, the grey fog of lethargy, slowly choking him like a poisonous gas, would make the businessman blend into the shadows even more that he already did. Stonehouse was at a crossroads, deciding which way to turn next.
The entrepreneur was currently trading stolen goods, pillaged from numerous warehouse raids, and making a tidy profit, but he needed an injection of enthusiasm. Rather than choosing to hit yet another office block that was lacking in adequate security measures, Stonehouse had been carefully tracking the progress of a new target - a moving target.
For several nights in a row, a large white truck had been transporting expensive, high-end electrical goods across the city. Laptops, iPhones, and gaming consoles, normally housed in a maximum-security factory, were ripe for the picking. Elaborate alarm systems, CC-TV units, and armed guards with ferocious looking dogs patrolling the warehouse perimeter, would make an attempt to break in and steal the loot somewhat foolhardy, if not totally reckless. However, once the gates of Mordor were opened, and the truck left the sanctuary of the urban fortress, it was a different ball game. The lorry was effectively a mobile refrigerator, jam-packed with a feast that could feed the five thousand.
Stonehouse had been meticulously monitoring the movements of the mobile goldmine, plotting its progress, reciting its route over and over in his mind until he knew each and every turn that the truck would make. The mental map was imprinted on the looter's mind. He was like a student, revising before an end of year examination, planning for success. One big haul, like a trawler returning to port with bulging nets full of succulent fish, could set up Stonehouse and his shady business ventures for months. Everything was in order; the roles had been cast, the stage was set, and tonight was show time.
The play in question contained three supporting actors: the driver of the truck, who appeared utterly focused on the job, and glued to his seat; a young man with a phone permanently attached to his ear, apart from when he was loading and unloading the vehicle; and a middle-aged security guard, probably an ex-cop, or maybe military. Act one was uneventful and laborious. The lorry would leave the haven of the warehouse castle, follow a preset route, and arrive at a much smaller building - some kind of distribution centre - roughly fifteen minutes later. Act two was even duller, as the empty truck would disappear into the night, not to be seen again until the next evening. It was the bit in between that really appealed to Stonehouse, the interval, when the goods were on display.
The unloading procedure usually lasted for about twenty minutes, a little quicker if the driver could be bothered to get up off his fat arse and lend a hand. A fourth actor would appear during the intermission, a stocky man with short-cropped black hair and a fondness for heavy metal T-shirts. Stonehouse thought that the evening temperature was far too chilly for short sleeves, but the depot worker seemed to enjoy showing off his biceps. Surely he was just an extra, trying to land himself a more prominent part in the next production?
Obviously, Stonehouse would play the lead role in the big budget production. He had the looks, the style, and most importantly... the plan. There were several options that swirled around in the burglar's mind, different flavours teasing his thieving taste buds. He could try something bold and meaty, go in all guns blazing and drive away in the truck, dragging all the loot with him like a caveman taking down a mammoth. There was the daring, spicier option of hijacking the lorry before it reached its destination, eliminating the fourth member from the equation. The final possibility, the one that Stonehouse settled upon as his plan of action, was far sweeter, like liquid chocolate that would flow smoothly. He'd let the goons unload the bounty into the storage depot then take down the lone worker once the road crew had split the scene. Ok, ok, so technically that meant that he was no longer hitting a moving target, and it was suddenly resembling a more routine breaking and entering scenario, but Stonehouse was the director, and it was his prerogative to alter the plot line!
The scene was set. Stonehouse, dressed from head to toe in black, including a slightly itchy balaclava, was huddled behind a group of bins adjacent to a sewer entrance. The underground network of damp, dark tunnels was still proving to be the stealthy Englishman’s preferred pathway around the city. He had learned each tortuous twist and turn of Harper Rock’s hidden maze, using it to appear and then vanish like a midnight magician. He kept his equipment for the job to a minimum: two compact rapid-fire machine-guns, in case the **** hit the fan; a pair of short-blade daggers, ideal for silent, close-quarter assassinations; and a couple of smoke grenades. Everything else that he required was stored safely in his head.
The powerful growl of a diesel engine, followed by a crazy beeping sound of the truck reversing, announced its arrival, like an ice-cream van playing a mechanical nursery rhyme to attract the hungry children. It was time to get the show on the road, or rather get the treasure off the road. Just as Stonehouse was about to make his move, a strange flash of red danced around in his peripheral vision. Was somebody else here, somebody else hiding in the shadows?
I have been so long master that I would be master still, or at least that none other should be master of me.
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Raven Talius
- Registered User
- Posts: 253
- Joined: 30 Jan 2016, 05:41
- CrowNet Handle: The_Raven
Re: Keys to the Kingdom [Master]
Raven counted three, three humans that were busy standing around talking, at least for the moment they were. The driver lit up a cigarette as the guard turned to the man with the phone in his hands, it looked as if he was texting something. She watched his fingers fly over the screen of what appeared to be a smart phone before she lifted her gaze to watch his lips move. Sometimes, she wished that she could learn to lip read and it wouldn’t hurt to have such a skill. However, at that point in time, it wasn’t at all that important. What she was more interested in, was the weapons that the guard carried. Her brown hues flickered to the man’s belt as he kicked the ground and seemed to also mumble to the man with the phone. She spied a standard issue glock, a baton and a tazer, which must have meant that he was licensed to carry.
A sigh caressed her lip as she leaned back to put weight upon her heels and her left hand lifted from its position upon the ground to nudge at the hawk that was sleeping upon her shoulder. ”Red, wake up.” The bird made a soft ’guh-runk’ sound as if it was protesting and she smirked, well at least the bird had character. The woman shook her shoulder then and the bird was forced to launch himself into the air and settle upon the lip of a warehouse roof. The sound of claws upon the tin metal roof and feathers, seemed to make the driver look up and pause for a moment in whatever the hell he was doing. She shook her head then and slowly rose to take a couple of slow steps back into the shadows of the warehouse that she stood next to. To blend deeper into the shadows. Although, she only did so, so then a passing eye couldn’t see her. If someone took the time to look, they would be able to clearly see her outline in the shadows, if they bothered to look properly.
Slowly, the driver seemed to be satisfied enough to return to his cigarette that he held and the conversation that they all had. Was this all that these men do? Sit around waiting for whatever it was that they were waiting upon to just simply come along? The woman could be out and about doing something else if that was her. However, it wasn’t and these men were going to get a visit from a woman with one arm. She didn’t even have a weapon upon her form, something which she saw as pointless against humans. They were weak and didn’t have the strength of being dead upon their side. Slowly, she began to walk forwards and she was hoping that they would dismiss her like they were sure to do once they found out that she was a woman. Women were always overlooked and now that she only had one arm, she was betting that she would be doubly overlooked.
As she came into view, the security guard shifted his attention and suddenly flew into action. He pulled out his gun and she lifted her single arm up into the air. “Don’t move!” He called out and she froze, complying with the man for now. ”I’m sorry, I was hoping that you could help me.” She said softly and angled her head slightly downwards. “Hey man,” the dude with the phone said and reached out to place a hand upon the guard’s arm. “It’s just a woman and she only has one arm. Look at her empty sleeve.” A murmur also came from the driver then as the security guard lowered his gun arm before he holstered the weapon. With just as slow movements, she lowered her arm while the security guard began to move towards her. “What are you doing out here at this time of night? Don't you know it's dangerous to be out alone?”
He was questioning her, which was a normal human behaviour. ”I went for a walk and…” Her words drew off, simply because she knew that she couldn’t lie. The words would choke in her throat, so she left it to the man’s imagination. Just a couple more steps, she thought to herself as she watched with brown eyes as the human took those two more steps that she needed to rip his throat out. As far as she was concerned, the other two didn’t have weapons, this was the only guy. So, she would take out the armed one and the other two would be easy pickings. Her fangs pressed into her mouth then as he lifted a hand and placed it upon her right shoulder. “You’ll be ok now,” the man said almost as if he was trying to comfort her.
This man is so pathetic, she thought to herself as she lifted her head and she smirked at him, flashing her fangs as she did so. ”But you won’t be anymore.” The woman lunged forwards as her left hand gripped his hair and yanked his head to the side. Quickly, she slashed her fangs through skin, flesh and vein. Blood spurted into her mouth from the open vein and she greedily lapped it up, enjoying the warm blood that was now freely flowing from the man. In the distance she heard curses being shot off from the other men, Raven didn’t care about them, for her dinner was currently in her arms.
A sigh caressed her lip as she leaned back to put weight upon her heels and her left hand lifted from its position upon the ground to nudge at the hawk that was sleeping upon her shoulder. ”Red, wake up.” The bird made a soft ’guh-runk’ sound as if it was protesting and she smirked, well at least the bird had character. The woman shook her shoulder then and the bird was forced to launch himself into the air and settle upon the lip of a warehouse roof. The sound of claws upon the tin metal roof and feathers, seemed to make the driver look up and pause for a moment in whatever the hell he was doing. She shook her head then and slowly rose to take a couple of slow steps back into the shadows of the warehouse that she stood next to. To blend deeper into the shadows. Although, she only did so, so then a passing eye couldn’t see her. If someone took the time to look, they would be able to clearly see her outline in the shadows, if they bothered to look properly.
Slowly, the driver seemed to be satisfied enough to return to his cigarette that he held and the conversation that they all had. Was this all that these men do? Sit around waiting for whatever it was that they were waiting upon to just simply come along? The woman could be out and about doing something else if that was her. However, it wasn’t and these men were going to get a visit from a woman with one arm. She didn’t even have a weapon upon her form, something which she saw as pointless against humans. They were weak and didn’t have the strength of being dead upon their side. Slowly, she began to walk forwards and she was hoping that they would dismiss her like they were sure to do once they found out that she was a woman. Women were always overlooked and now that she only had one arm, she was betting that she would be doubly overlooked.
As she came into view, the security guard shifted his attention and suddenly flew into action. He pulled out his gun and she lifted her single arm up into the air. “Don’t move!” He called out and she froze, complying with the man for now. ”I’m sorry, I was hoping that you could help me.” She said softly and angled her head slightly downwards. “Hey man,” the dude with the phone said and reached out to place a hand upon the guard’s arm. “It’s just a woman and she only has one arm. Look at her empty sleeve.” A murmur also came from the driver then as the security guard lowered his gun arm before he holstered the weapon. With just as slow movements, she lowered her arm while the security guard began to move towards her. “What are you doing out here at this time of night? Don't you know it's dangerous to be out alone?”
He was questioning her, which was a normal human behaviour. ”I went for a walk and…” Her words drew off, simply because she knew that she couldn’t lie. The words would choke in her throat, so she left it to the man’s imagination. Just a couple more steps, she thought to herself as she watched with brown eyes as the human took those two more steps that she needed to rip his throat out. As far as she was concerned, the other two didn’t have weapons, this was the only guy. So, she would take out the armed one and the other two would be easy pickings. Her fangs pressed into her mouth then as he lifted a hand and placed it upon her right shoulder. “You’ll be ok now,” the man said almost as if he was trying to comfort her.
This man is so pathetic, she thought to herself as she lifted her head and she smirked at him, flashing her fangs as she did so. ”But you won’t be anymore.” The woman lunged forwards as her left hand gripped his hair and yanked his head to the side. Quickly, she slashed her fangs through skin, flesh and vein. Blood spurted into her mouth from the open vein and she greedily lapped it up, enjoying the warm blood that was now freely flowing from the man. In the distance she heard curses being shot off from the other men, Raven didn’t care about them, for her dinner was currently in her arms.
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Stonehouse
- Registered User
- Posts: 306
- Joined: 23 Feb 2015, 17:06
Re: Keys to the Kingdom [Master]
Grant Stonehouse loved to party, at least the original, human version of the businessman did. Stonehouse Mark Two, the vampire who had kept his reincarnated upgrade hidden in the background of society, was a little more reserved. Fancy dress used to be a particular favourite of the flamboyant reveller. Costumes and imagination could lead to fantastic fun and sensational scenarios. Whether it be a 1920’s Great Gatsby and gangster extravaganza, cartoon character inspired chaos, or a good old Ancient Greek and Roman toga party, dressing up and assuming the role of an alter-ego was guaranteed to generate enough stories to last for years.
A particular favourite soiree that always stuck in Stonehouse’s creative mind was a Pirates of the Caribbean themed event that was organized by one of his work colleagues. The men were dressed as suave swashbucklers and boisterous buccaneers, while the woman were transformed into crafty cutthroats and busty wenches. Mock swordfights with plastic cutlasses took place in the kitchen and back garden of the host’s house, and people merrily glugged back rum based cocktails. Perhaps mojitos weren’t quite historically correct, but nobody seemed to be bothered, especially after downing their fourth or fifth glass. Somebody even brought along a couple of toy boats that were set sail upon the fishpond. The coy carp were probably not enamoured as partygoers threw pebbles at the pretend galleons in an attempt to sink them.
Needless to say, frivolity ensued, and much loot was plundered by Johnny Depp wannabes. It was equally fair to say that many folk felt like walking the plank the day after. Why is the rum gone? Because you drank it all, you bloody fools!
As Stonehouse gazed outwards from the sanctuary of the shadows, he was both stunned and amused at the situation that was unfolding. He couldn’t help but recall the pirate party, and wondered if one had just been held right here in Harper Rock. If so, where was his invitation?
A woman, with striking bold streaks of glorious crimson and black hair, had inexplicably attacked a security guard. She wasn’t quite adorned in the usual outfit of a seafaring brigand, choosing tight-fitting jeans and a waist-high leather jacket rather than a full-length doublet coat and tricorne hat, but there were distinct similarities. A bird was perched upon her shoulder, not exactly a parrot, but certainly giving the same visual effect. One arm appeared to be missing, as her sleeve hung loosely as she charged at the guard. Presumably her hooked-hand had fallen off earlier in the evening? As Stonehouse smirked, he wondered if the crazy woman had a wooden leg stuffed up her trousers. He’d ask her later.
The entertainment factor was quickly replaced with an increasing level of frustration. As much fun as it was to witness this act of bravado, it was going to totally ruin Stonehouse’s meticulously planned robbery. The perfectionist had spent hour upon painstaking hour carefully writing the script to his burglary screenplay, and now someone had burst onto the set, and was ad-libbing like a goofy gatecrasher. Stonehouse’s ship was taking a broadside from Captain Crimson’s cannonballs.
Maintaining a low profile had generally kept Stonehouse out of harm’s reach. If you don’t trouble Trouble, Trouble won’t trouble you. Yet here was a woman who was displaying a total lack of regard for her own safety, not to mention potentially drawing a huge amount of attention to herself, exposing her to the humans. Stonehouse had made an instant assumption that Captain Crimson was a vampire. Her lightning speed, her brute strength, and the giveaway sign - the craving for blood - indicated to the astute businessman that the urban pirate was one of his own kind.
The burglary would have to be put on hold until the current clusterfuck was resolved. The question running around in circles like a headless chicken in Stonehouse’s annoyed brain was what to do now. Should he intervene and get drawn into the scuffle, or would remaining hidden from sight be a far better option?
The security guard was flailing uncontrollably as his throat was torn to shreds by the brutal assault. His time on this earth was numbered, and he now offered little resistance, but the driver and his assistant were still very much in the game. There was also the potential that the fourth man would spring out from the warehouse at any second, as he always did, shifting the odds away from the solitary huntress. No matter how powerful you think that you are, four against one is a tough call.
Suddenly, the driver, the one who was usually lacking in animation like Frankenstein’s Monster before the switch had been flicked, dashed towards the cab of the truck, pulling a hefty looking crowbar out of the footwell. In the meantime, the driver’s right-hand man, Phone Boy, did what all young kids seem to do nowadays – he pointed his phone directly at the guard and his ravenous assailant, and began to film the event. **** helping out a dying man, a YouTube post was definitely going to be a more fruitful course of action.
“Bollocks!” muttered an angry Stonehouse from his secret bunker. “Get rid of that bloody phone.”
In many ways, a smart phone was far more dangerous than an iron crowbar. A video clip showing a violent murder of a security guard would be the equivalent of trying to run a marathon with a sharp stone in one’s shoe; painful and potentially crippling. The Internet is a powerful tool, and there were already a bunch of weird and wonderful stories floating around regarding strange occurrences in Harper Rock. Maintaining secrecy, preserving the so-called “masquerade” which kept mortals oblivious to the existence of their immortal cousins was often a hot topic on Crownet, an anonymous messaging board. Graphic evidence would be a possible nail in the vampire’s coffin. Stonehouse’s hand had been forced.
Nestling into position, Stonehouse took aim with one of his semi-automatic weapons. The marksman gently held the handle of his firearm, caressing the trigger as if it were the cheek of a lover, and squeezed off a single round. The phone fell to the cold, unforgiving floor of the street below, cracking its delicate screen, followed a second later by the dead body of its former owner, a hole through his temple beginning to ooze fresh blood. Reluctantly or not, Stonehouse had now joined the pirate’s party.
A particular favourite soiree that always stuck in Stonehouse’s creative mind was a Pirates of the Caribbean themed event that was organized by one of his work colleagues. The men were dressed as suave swashbucklers and boisterous buccaneers, while the woman were transformed into crafty cutthroats and busty wenches. Mock swordfights with plastic cutlasses took place in the kitchen and back garden of the host’s house, and people merrily glugged back rum based cocktails. Perhaps mojitos weren’t quite historically correct, but nobody seemed to be bothered, especially after downing their fourth or fifth glass. Somebody even brought along a couple of toy boats that were set sail upon the fishpond. The coy carp were probably not enamoured as partygoers threw pebbles at the pretend galleons in an attempt to sink them.
Needless to say, frivolity ensued, and much loot was plundered by Johnny Depp wannabes. It was equally fair to say that many folk felt like walking the plank the day after. Why is the rum gone? Because you drank it all, you bloody fools!
As Stonehouse gazed outwards from the sanctuary of the shadows, he was both stunned and amused at the situation that was unfolding. He couldn’t help but recall the pirate party, and wondered if one had just been held right here in Harper Rock. If so, where was his invitation?
A woman, with striking bold streaks of glorious crimson and black hair, had inexplicably attacked a security guard. She wasn’t quite adorned in the usual outfit of a seafaring brigand, choosing tight-fitting jeans and a waist-high leather jacket rather than a full-length doublet coat and tricorne hat, but there were distinct similarities. A bird was perched upon her shoulder, not exactly a parrot, but certainly giving the same visual effect. One arm appeared to be missing, as her sleeve hung loosely as she charged at the guard. Presumably her hooked-hand had fallen off earlier in the evening? As Stonehouse smirked, he wondered if the crazy woman had a wooden leg stuffed up her trousers. He’d ask her later.
The entertainment factor was quickly replaced with an increasing level of frustration. As much fun as it was to witness this act of bravado, it was going to totally ruin Stonehouse’s meticulously planned robbery. The perfectionist had spent hour upon painstaking hour carefully writing the script to his burglary screenplay, and now someone had burst onto the set, and was ad-libbing like a goofy gatecrasher. Stonehouse’s ship was taking a broadside from Captain Crimson’s cannonballs.
Maintaining a low profile had generally kept Stonehouse out of harm’s reach. If you don’t trouble Trouble, Trouble won’t trouble you. Yet here was a woman who was displaying a total lack of regard for her own safety, not to mention potentially drawing a huge amount of attention to herself, exposing her to the humans. Stonehouse had made an instant assumption that Captain Crimson was a vampire. Her lightning speed, her brute strength, and the giveaway sign - the craving for blood - indicated to the astute businessman that the urban pirate was one of his own kind.
The burglary would have to be put on hold until the current clusterfuck was resolved. The question running around in circles like a headless chicken in Stonehouse’s annoyed brain was what to do now. Should he intervene and get drawn into the scuffle, or would remaining hidden from sight be a far better option?
The security guard was flailing uncontrollably as his throat was torn to shreds by the brutal assault. His time on this earth was numbered, and he now offered little resistance, but the driver and his assistant were still very much in the game. There was also the potential that the fourth man would spring out from the warehouse at any second, as he always did, shifting the odds away from the solitary huntress. No matter how powerful you think that you are, four against one is a tough call.
Suddenly, the driver, the one who was usually lacking in animation like Frankenstein’s Monster before the switch had been flicked, dashed towards the cab of the truck, pulling a hefty looking crowbar out of the footwell. In the meantime, the driver’s right-hand man, Phone Boy, did what all young kids seem to do nowadays – he pointed his phone directly at the guard and his ravenous assailant, and began to film the event. **** helping out a dying man, a YouTube post was definitely going to be a more fruitful course of action.
“Bollocks!” muttered an angry Stonehouse from his secret bunker. “Get rid of that bloody phone.”
In many ways, a smart phone was far more dangerous than an iron crowbar. A video clip showing a violent murder of a security guard would be the equivalent of trying to run a marathon with a sharp stone in one’s shoe; painful and potentially crippling. The Internet is a powerful tool, and there were already a bunch of weird and wonderful stories floating around regarding strange occurrences in Harper Rock. Maintaining secrecy, preserving the so-called “masquerade” which kept mortals oblivious to the existence of their immortal cousins was often a hot topic on Crownet, an anonymous messaging board. Graphic evidence would be a possible nail in the vampire’s coffin. Stonehouse’s hand had been forced.
Nestling into position, Stonehouse took aim with one of his semi-automatic weapons. The marksman gently held the handle of his firearm, caressing the trigger as if it were the cheek of a lover, and squeezed off a single round. The phone fell to the cold, unforgiving floor of the street below, cracking its delicate screen, followed a second later by the dead body of its former owner, a hole through his temple beginning to ooze fresh blood. Reluctantly or not, Stonehouse had now joined the pirate’s party.
I have been so long master that I would be master still, or at least that none other should be master of me.